


A Study in Crimson

by zemph147



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fem!Sherlock, Genderswap, Menstruation, girl!sherlock, period sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zemph147/pseuds/zemph147
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fem!Sherlock almost never gets her period, but when she does, it's a nightmare. Cue John Watson, ready to help her feel better any way he can.</p><p>From this prompt in the kink meme: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19351.html?thread=114456471#t114456471</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> Totally un-beta'd, un-britpicked, just wrote on a whim. I never thought I'd write het, but here it is. Oh yeah, there's a little Parks and Recreation reference in there if you squint.

John came home to find Sherlock curled up in the fetal position on the bathroom floor.

“Jesus, are you alright? What's wrong?” John said, checking her pulse and scanning her body for any sign of physical injury.

“It's this fucking body!” Sherlock roared, slamming her fist onto the tile floor. Then she groaned, curling in on herself again. “I told the doctor I didn't need my uterus, but no, no, he thought it would be worth it in case someday I really did want a sniveling blob with my face laying about and shitting itself. He was wrong!”

“I'm sorry, you're not...are you? Cause it's been a little while, but I definitely used a condom—“

“God damn it, John, I'm menstruating!” 

“Oh. Oh! Have you taken any painkillers?”

“Six codine. Nothing. It still feels like my innards are being carved out with a trowel.”

“Jesus, Sherlock, you should take it easy on the drugs. That's not exactly a small dose.”

“Do I look like I need a small dose?” Sherlock yelled, writing about on the floor for dramatic effect.

“Right. Well, first we need to get you off the bathroom floor. C'mon, up you go.” John bent down, scooping an uncooperative Sherlock by the armpits and hauling her to a hunched standing position, arm slung around John's shoulders for support. She grumbled and whined slightly when John began to move, but ultimately they made it to her bedroom.

John set Sherlock on the bed, where she promptly curled up again. When John reached for the waistband of her trousers, she scowled at him.

“I know, I know, no funny business. I just want to make you comfortable, and I think getting out of your trousers and under the blankets will help. I'll get you a hot water bottle too.”

Sherlock huffed, but then rolled onto her back, allowing John to undo her trousers and slide them off. John tried not to focus on her long, pale legs, or how they lead up to a ridiculously sexy pair of purple knickers.

“Ok, let's just get you tucked in, yeah? No more pills for a while though. I don't want you overdoing it.”

Sherlock rolled her eyes.

John went downstairs to heat water, and when he returned with the hot water bottle, Sherlock was curled up yet again, clutching her stomach and emitting a soft whine.

“Here, take this,” he said, lifting one of her hands to tuck the hot water bottle against her abdomen. “I'll rub your back, okay?”

A little grunt let him know he was permitted to touch her.

“It's strange, you know,” he said once he was seated behind her, rubbing soothing circles on her lower back. “I've never seen you like this before.”

“I almost never get it,” Sherlock said. “Not enough food, not enough sleep, too many drugs. But when it does decide to rain its bloody hellfire upon me, it brings the wrath of a uterus scorned. I can't do anything for days. It's dreadful.”

“And there's nothing you can do to help with the pain?” John asked.

“Cocaine. But I've been told that's not so good.”

“Yeah,” John said. “You know, there is something we might try.”

They'd only slept together a few times. Mostly, Sherlock kept things purely platonic, with a lot of standing very close together but never touching. But then, one night a few months back, after a particularly heart-pounding case where John had shot two men and Sherlock had nearly been beheaded, she'd jumped him when they arrived home. They'd had hot, sweaty, hard, thank-god-I'm-alive sex on the living room floor. Twice. 

The next day Sherlock gave John an awkward, “I don't normally do that,” speech. John said that was fine, he valued their friendship too much to mess it up with sex. Even if the sex was mind blowing. And things went back to normal. Except for when, a few weeks later, another near-death encounter ended in a hard fuck across the kitchen table. Next day, back to best friends forever.

It wasn't a bad arrangement. Sure, John wasn't getting laid unless he'd been recently put in mortal danger, but it could've been worse. He could've been not getting laid at all.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Sherlock said, eying him warily. 

“Well, it's just a thought, but scientifically speaking, orgasms have been known to help with menstrual cramps.”

Sherlock laughed, though it was a pained, cranky laugh.

“Even if you could manage to distract my mind long enough for me to become aroused, which would be an impressive feat, you must believe me when I tell you, you do not want to be anywhere near my nether regions right now.”

“I've had period sex before,” John said, a little sheepishly.

“John, this is no ordinary menstruation. We are not speaking of gladiatorial matches or beheadings. Fucking Stalingrad has opened up in my uterus. The Soviets are slaughtering the Germans. There are heavy civilian casualties.”

“Ok, so, I'm not even going to try to come up with a way to fit my cock into that metaphor. I'm just saying, I don't mind the blood, even a lot of blood. I've performed amputations and surgeries. It doesn't gross me out. And I think it might actually help.”

Sherlock was looking at him skeptically. 

“And I'm not just trying to get a leg over,” John added. “I really think this could help you.”

Sherlock sighed. “Fine. But if I get bored, you have to stop.”

“Of course.”

“We're going to need all the towels.”

John stood to fetch them.

“Wait. You think what I meant when I said all the towels was several towels. You actually must get all the towels we have.”

John just smiled and nodded. 

While he ran to the wardrobe in his room to collect all of his towels, he heard Sherlock get up and go to the bathroom. Then she shouted up to him.

“I just took out my fucking tampon. You have two minutes to get down here and start fucking me or I will start to fucking gush everywhere and I'll make you fucking clean it up.”

The hormones really ruined her vocabulary.

John ran back down the stairs, arms full of towels. He lay them carefully out on Sherlock's bed, layering as much as possible. Then he stripped off his clothes as fast as he could. Sherlock came back in and flopped onto the towel covering with an unenthusiastic grunt. She shrugged off her shirt and then removed her knickers with a wiggle. 

“C'mon then. Let's get this over with. Condoms in the table there.” She gestured to beside the bed.

John paused to look at her body. It was long and lithe, with brilliant curves around her hips and small breasts. Her skin was pale and flawless, almost glowing. John wanted to run his fingers over her, trace her veins over the ridges and dips of her body, nestle his nose in the dark thatch of hair between her legs. But if their past encounters were anything to go by, Sherlock thought little of the gentle, slow approach.

John stroked himself a bit, finding a full erection an easy task in Sherlock's naked presence. He grabbed a condom from the bedside table, pushing away the pang of jealousy that she might have these to use with someone else. 

He crawled over her, settling his body along hers, nuzzling her neck slightly. Then he went in for a kiss, soft at first, then open mouthed and passionate, sucking her, tasting her, needing her. She responded a bit, but after not long enough, pulled back.

“You going to get on with it?” she said.

“Right. Yes.” John sat back on his heels and grabbed her legs. He hitched them up so her calves were on his shoulders and lined up his cock with her entrance. She was right. There was already blood on the outer lips, a little smeared on her thigh.

An impatient sigh from Sherlock was all John needed to hear. He plunged into her as hard as he could and let out a deep moan. She was so slick, so wet, so hot and tight. He couldn't believe the sensation. A quick glance at her face told him he was enjoying this considerably more than she was. He resolved to remedy the problem.

Gripping her thighs for leverage, John began to thrust. With any other woman he would start slow, build up until they were writhing, begging for more. But Sherlock wanted none of that. After a few strokes, John began to fuck her hard, ramming into her as hard and fast as he could. It was a bit overwhelming, but he was determined to make her feel something, to prove he was worth a shag even when they weren't on death's door.

Sure enough, Sherlock let out a small moan when John shoved in particularly fast, snapping his hips the best he could. John repeated the movement again, pounding until her face was contorted in pleasure. A flush ran over her chest and highlighted her cheeks, her lips were glossy and parted, eyes closed ever so slightly, brow furrowed. It was the hottest thing John had ever seen. It made him want to fuck her even harder.

“Fuck,” John said. “Fuck, fuck.” He paused for a moment, moving her legs off his shoulders.

“Why are you stopping? Don't stop,” Sherlock demanded.

“Quick, flip over,” John said. Sherlock obeyed without hesitation or mocking, and John was too distracted to treasure the moment.

Sherlock lay on her stomach, legs apart. John hadn't even noticed when he'd pulled out the blood smeared everywhere. It was all over his cock, his stomach, the tops of his thighs. The smell of it was in the air, like iron and earth.

John found her entrance again, positioning himself the best he could to fuck her hard.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Fuck you,” Sherlock said. John shoved in.

In the new position, John couldn't get as deep, but he could use the bounce of the mattress to go faster, and it wasn't long before Sherlock was moaning.

“Fuck, that's it, right there, John, oh fuck me, oh fuck I'm coming, John!” she chanted. Encouraged, he picked up the speed until the warmth growing in his groin told him it wouldn't last much longer.

Sherlock's vocal contributions only made it worse.

“Oh, God, shove it in me, fucking harder John, oh John, that's fucking perfect, John, John,” she said. Every time she moaned his name was like an erotic lightening bolt down his spine.

“Shit, Sherlock, oh, oh,” John said in warning. There was no stopping it. He slammed into her, pulsing until the world whited out and he collapsed on top of her.

A minute of nothing but bliss floated by.

“Get the fuck off me,” Sherlock murmured, bringing John back to reality.

“Shit, sorry,” John said, sitting up and pulling out.

There was blood everywhere. The condom, their bodies, and the towels were all covered. It was smeared up his chest and over Sherlock's back. When she rolled over, he was surprised to find it all over her breasts.

“How did...?” John asked, looking over the beautiful contrast between her porcelain skin and the deep red blood.

“Stalingrad,” Sherlock said. “You have some on your face.”

John just smiled.

“Well, Doctor Watson, I must admit, I feel marginally better. Considerably more disgusting, but in less pain,” Sherlock said.

“I'm glad to be of service any time,” John said.

“Yes, I'm well aware,” Sherlock said.

John dragged his fingers through the blood on the insides of her thighs, then dipped two fingers inside her. Sherlock let out a small gasp. He pulled them out, coated in the thick blood, and then absentmindedly painted in an alien language on her stomach.

“I don't suppose I could arrange to utilize those services of yours again so soon?”

“Anything is possible,” John said, marveling at her body.

“Because I think it's time for a little medicinal shower, don't you?”

John scooped her off the bed and carried her to the bathroom before Sherlock even had a chance to roll her eyes.


End file.
